Dear Me
by Mediocre Detective
Summary: Seemingly on a whim, Moriarty takes away the one thing that matters most to John. Sherlock. And the games begin.   Moriarty/Sherlock Slash with a dash of JohnLock. Rated M for Smut, Angst, Blood, and language.
1. I'll bring the tea

Things always tended to go badly for John whenever Sherlock found something to excite him. Although he had grown accustomed to being dragged all over the city, finding himself in places he would not normally deign to frequent, getting shot at amongst worse things, and in more ways then one acting as a personal attendant to his flatmate; some part of him felt a quiet dread whenever he saw that gleeful smile cross his face. He supposed it was the same part of him that heated with excitement at the very same thought. That thrilled at the chase, despite himself he loved nearly every minute of it.

Yet despite how badly things went when Sherlock was on a case, they were always worse when he was bored. Although the way he pouted was almost cute, even if John would never admit to thinking so just as Sherlock would never admit to pouting. The man would grumble and sulk about the place, moving from couch to chair and back again, and John was growing increasingly concerned that the section of wall Sherlock had painted a rather simple looking smiling face would crumble any day now. Amazing as it was that who he had assumed had no official training managed to keep every shot so perfectly within those painted yellow lines, he found it harder not to kill the man with every complaint.

Like now, he was draped over the couch in an over dramatic fashion, head hanging over the end as a groan that started out quiet but quickly grew louder made the doctor want to throw something at his friend. He was never going to get any work done on his blog with him acting like this, and with the look in his eyes he knew any chance he had at a quiet evening were quickly going up in smoke. Looking up from the dimly glowing screen he sighed.

"Let me guess?"

"I'm bored." The response was predictable, the man shifting to look at him as he complained.

"Ah, thought so. Going to take it out inanimate objects again?" He couldn't help but smirk slightly at the dirty look shot his way. Looking back to his screen he decided it would be best to finish for the day and try to find some way to occupy Sherlock. John was well aware of the eyes on him as he attempted to complete his sentence.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Well, aren't you going to do anything about it? You've spent half the day working on your silly blog, which gets too much attention I might add; and what are you even writing about? We haven't had a decent case in over a month."

"I don't only write about you you know, I have other things going on in my life that don't revolve around you." Watson didn't feel the need to add that everyone who read his blog only read it for the cases. "And what about that one last week, with the missing widow?"

"Please, she was hiding out with the gardener. There was no challenge!"

"Not my problem."

He quickly hit the command to save his work before snapping the laptop shut just as Sherlock arrived to peer over his shoulder. Turning in his chair he met an annoyed set of eyes with his own, mouth twisting into a smile. "Why don't we catch a movie at the theatre or something, it should entertain you for at least a few hours. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Whatever Holmes thought of the idea had to wait as his phone gave a familiar chime. His eyes took on a hopeful glint as he moved to pick up the phone, obviously hoping that it was Lestrade once again needing his help. Checking his message his eyes flicked across the screen twice before taking on a disappointed turn. "Bloody spam." He tossed the phone carelessly onto the couch where he once again threw himself before once again turning his attention back to his partner.

"No, I don't think a movie is in my immediate future, I rarely go. Sitting in the dark, surrounded by noisy people trying to be quiet as they whisper to one another." He pulled a face to show just how much the idea bothered him."It's more bothersome then anything else really. Come now John, think!"

"Fine, I tried to come up with a suggestion, you think of something." Watson couldn't keep the edge of anger out of his voice, and with Sherlock he hardly tried. "You know what I do when I'm bored?" He kept talking over Holmes' attempt to interrupt. "I make plans! I go out and find something to do, or maybe just relax with a book."

"It's not such a bad thing, not having work to do for a change. Maybe you should take this as time to relax." John figured his words would be dismissed as always, so what came next came as a complete shock.

"Maybe you're right John."

"S-sorry, I'm what?"

"I said you're right."

Having been caught completely off guard, Watson took a moment to compose himself before attempting to find a gentle way to approach the topic without making the detective change his mind. "On what part?"

He was answered with an annoyed sigh. "About the book John, the book! Maybe you're right, perhaps I need to take some time to sit down and do something that does not require much thinking. A book would be a perfect distraction."

John was smiling, somewhat befuddled with the unexpected turn of events that he hardly heard Sherlock call his name. "Yes?"

"John, I'm hardly dressed to go out myself. Could you perhaps go out and pick one out for me?"

Now he frowned slightly. "You've plenty of books here Sherlock, just read one of those."

"I've read them all already, that's the problem now isn't it?" His tone made it clear that he thought it had been completely obvious. "That's why I need you to get me one."

Just when had he turned into the other mans lackey? Watson frowned slightly as he tried to figure out when he began following almost every order the man gave him. Whatever, he'd do anything at this point for a little peace and quiet. "Fine, you win Sherlock. What do you want me to get?"

"I'll leave that up to you, I trust your judgment."

The comment came almost as a strange compliment, and John felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly. Maybe this night was going to work itself out after all. Nodding he grabbed his coat, standing by the door as he paused. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Was the reply, although the irritation of being questioned was clear. "Just make sure it's something good, I don't want to read what passes for a trend these days. Nothing to do with romance, but no mysteries either. I always figure it out halfway through and then the book just gets boring."

"Right. Well, I'll be off then. Watch some telly or something until I get back, and for the love of god don't touch my gun. Mrs. Hudson would never forgive me If I let you take it out on her walls again." Sherlock gave a wordless answer, waving his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture.

"Did you hear me Sherlock? I want you to promise-"

"Yes!"

"Good."

Sherlock continued to stare at the ceiling as the door clicked shut, listening to the descending footsteps as his flatmate made his way downstairs and out of the building. It was only then he grabbed his phone again, flicking back to the message he had just received.

'Up for some tea Shirley? I'll be by soon -JM

PS: No need to put a pot on, my treat!'

Blue eyes narrowed as he read the message for what felt like the hundredth time. Moriarty was coming here, and soon. He assumed the man had something up his sleeve, yet felt fairly confident that for now he'd be safe. Jim Moriarty wasn't the type to just stroll in and shoot him, no; he wanted to play. His lip quirked in a half smile. At least he was no longer bored, and with John out of the house he wouldn't have to worry about him. It would take the man at least an hour to find a book that he'd feel confident handing off to him, and he planned for Moriarty to be on his way long before then.

Crossing his legs Sherlock sat, long fingers tapping together as he listened for the tell tale creak of the well worn stairs to alert him of his guests arrival. Thoughts raced through his mind as they always did, they tended to do that, even when he wanted them to stop his mind was racing. It was maddening really, the constant buzz behind his ears; he couldn't help but try to figure out everything about everything. Sometimes he almost envied the simple minded way most people carried on with their lives, content not to question the world around them, accepting everything at face value. Their minds were quiet, calm, peaceful; something the detective was sure he'd never experience in all his years.

His mother had once commented, only slightly joking, that his first word had been "Why?" One of his two favourite questions. 'Why' and 'How', both were questions he dedicated his life to answering. Both were questions that drove him mad night and day until he defeated them. In the case of Moriarty he was mostly certain he knew the 'Why'. Like him, he was bored to death of the simple way the world worked and craved a challenge. He felt no shame in admitting that he and Moriarty were two sides of the same coin, as Moriarty had done for him what he knew he did in return. Cure the boredom. Like now, his pulse had quickened ever so slightly since he had received the message, and he hadn't even arrived yet.

It was the 'How' he had yet to decipher, the man had a way of controlling the world around him so perfectly. It was somewhat of a mystery. All his connections, all his power. Holmes was sure he had yet to even scratch the surface that was Jim Moriarty. He could have killed both he and his partner on their last encounter. Yet he had let them live. He doubted whoever had been on the other side of that phone held that much sway over his choice. It wasn't such a far fetched theory that Moriarty had simply lost interest, he didn't seem to have a strong attention span, and had decided to play another day. He had no idea what that man was capable of. As he said, he was 'so changeable'.

These were the thoughts racing around the detectives mind when the sound of a hard sole clicking against the floor met his ears. Eyes flicking to the door he watched as it swung open to reveal his self proclaimed nemesis casually wave a hand in greeting, a broad and friendly smile plastered on his face.

"Afternoon! My I love what you've done with the place. Your sense of style is really quite, remarkable." His voice carried a hint of sarcasm as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him as he held up a cheap cardboard tray with two cups from a little shop down the street. "Thirsty? I do hope you like cream. Oh, and I took the liberty of adding a little sugar, although with how sweet you are I'm sure you don't need it."

"Charming." The single word was his only response as he watched the man invite himself in, dropping the tray on the slightly scarred surface of the table as he selected one of the cups for himself. Pushing himself up from the couch he moved to join Moriarty as he casually fell into one of two chairs arranged to face each other. Taking his own seat, Holmes eyed the other man across the cup remaining on the table, a thin trail of steam twisting in the air between them.

"Why are you here?"

Moriarty quirked his lips in an amused smile. "What, you're not pleased to see me?"

"Not precisely."

Lifting a finger to silence the detective Moriarty smiled. "Ah, you're lying." The last word was drawn out with an almost sing-song quality to it. "You know you are. Why, I'm likely the man you're most excited to see, admit it. Come on." Reaching over he tapped the cup. "I even brought you a gift. Come now, don't let it get cold."

"Why would I drink something you brought for me?" Sherlock ignored his comments regarding his apparent excitement. "That would be rather ill thought of me, wouldn't you say?"

"What, you think I poisoned it?" With a roll of his eyes the consulting criminal scoffed. "That would be too simple! Boring even! Boring boring over done boring." Heaving a sigh he leaned over, snatching up the cup for himself and taking a long sip. "See? Nothing."

The man took another sip from the cup to reassure his companion before holding it out, smirking. "I'm not going to let you die that easily Sherlock. Remember? I promised a much more exciting end for you. If I killed you now we wouldn't be able to play our games."

Hesitating for a moment, Sherlock leaned forward to take the proffered cup; the drink a warm weight in his hand as he settled back into his chair. Taking a small sip of his own he allowed the liquid to roll across his tongue, testing it for anything out of the ordinary. It tasted fine, not that that meant anything, there were many poisons that had no taste or odour. No, he believed Moriarty. Like he said, that would be simple and boring, just as he had predicted.

"Yes, if I recall correctly you said you were going to burn me?"

"And I will, don't you worry about that." The mans smile grew dark, his voice taking on the lower quality it did whenever he threatened someone. "I always keep my promises."

"Mm, right. I'm filled with anticipation I'm sure." Holmes feigned disinterest as he gave the other man a quick once over, taking in every detail that whispered signs of his personal life. He knew whatever he found would be there deliberately, Moriarty was too smart for that. Anything he learned the other man wanted him to know, and he wasn't surprised to find nothing of importance. His shoes showed signs of being recently cleaned, Most likely shortly before he entered the building; and every aspect of his clothing were seemingly untouched by the outside world. A blank slate.

His observations did not go unnoticed, and a foot waggled at him in response. "Can't find anything, can you?" Leaning forward in his seat Moriarty smiled. "It must drive you mad."

"Not really. I hadn't been expecting to find anything. More of a habit really." He ran a thumb down the warm side of the thin paper cup, eyeing his guest. "But I really must insist you answer my first question, why-are-you-here?"

Jumping from his seat in excitement Moriarty practically danced around the room without spilling a drop. "Ah, couldn't distract you could I? That's good, that's good. Always thinking Mister Holmes that's what I love about you." He wandered around the room, running his free hand over various objects, examining the world around him. "Eye on the prize and all that."

"Yes, and I would appreciate an answer." Sherlocks tone was flat and unimpressed. He had no tolerance for the mans fun.

Stepping in behind his chair, Moriarty bent to whisper in his ear. "I'm here because I'm like you." Although he had been expecting some sort of attack or threat before the other man left, Sherlock was caught off guard by the vicious bite of a needle in his neck and the sudden burning hot feeling that followed. "Like you, I have my eye on the prize."

Sherlocks attempt to stand was in vain as he quickly crashed to the floor, tea spilling out across the dark red of the carpet; spreading wide before slowly sinking into the fabric. The feeling was more then familiar as he attempted to push himself up, vision already growing hazy as his eyes searched the room for some form of self defence. He couldn't believe he had been so stupid as to let his guard down. Just because his guest hadn't been there to kill him didn't mean he should have allowed himself to relax. It had all been a show to let the man know he did not intimidate him.

Moriarty groaned as he made his way around the chair, kicking the detectives buckling arms out from under him. "Now you have to admit, that was easy. Far far to easy. I'm disappointed." He knelt before his victim, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Feel familiar? I believe it's the same one Miss Adler used to sedate you. Really Sherlock, this is becoming a bad habit. You'll have to watch out for that, I hear some sedatives are quite addicting."

Soft hushing noises quieted Sherlock as he attempted to speak, an unneeded action as the drug had already robbed him of that function. "Do you hear that? It sounds like we have a guest." Holmes was hardly able to hear the steps coming up the stairs as he gave one last futile attempt to push himself up. Who was that? Mrs Hudson? John? No, it couldn't be. He had left hardly fifteen minutes ago, there was no way he could be back already. His protest came out as a pathetic groan as Moriarty positioned himself behind the door, a second syringe in hand.

"I forgot my bloody wallet-Sherlock? What-?" The doctor had hardly had time to step forward as the man calmly stepped in from behind, stabbing the needle deep into his arm with a quick motion. Spinning around John faced his attacker only to loose his balance and stumble to the floor. "Moriarty, how?"

"You both keep asking the same questions over and over again, at least try to think of something new!" Stepping over the fallen body at his feet, he frowned as a hand fastened around his ankle in an attempt to restrain him. "Such a loyal dog you keep, you two really do make a cute couple. Pity I have to separate you." A swift and savage kick connected with the drugged mans jaw, winning him a muffled shout as he wrenched free from the weakening grip.

Moving to his intended target Moriarty paused, observing the hand his prey had outstretched to his partner. Pitiful. Stooping down he lifted the rather light man into his arms, cradling him against his chest. The dull bound of his heart beat was delicious. Turning his head he observed the other man on the floor, smiling at the groggy protests. "Don't-don't you touch him."

"Dear me, Johnny boy, dear me." The man in his arms was out cold now, and Doctor Watson was fast on his way to joining him in his comatose state. "Hush, he'll be safe with me. For now. Now if you'll excuse me, hate to run it's quite rude I know; but I have a ride waiting."

John watched helplessly from the floor, as the man he cared about more then anyone else in the world was carried away in the arms of a mad man.


	2. (Announcement, will continue soon)

Hello readers,

I apologize for my long absence, not much to say on why I have been gone for so long. But I am sorry.

I will begin posting new chapters regularly soon, and I hope you've stuck with me.

Thank you for your patience.

-MediocreDetective


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